A thousand thoughts were racing through her brain. "What?" was all she managed.
"What did you see?" Nick crossed the kitchen to her and took the pancake turner out of her hand. He took the pancakes out of the pan and placed them on the plate she had been turning to retrieve and turned off the stove.
"A little boy."
"Poor kid," Nick laughed. "You probably scared him."
"I scared him?"
Nick pulled her into his arms. "Everything's okay," he soothed, brushing her hair with his hand. He kissed her forehead, and then her lips. "Are you ready to hear this?"
"Your house is haunted isn't it?"
"No," he shook his head.
She could feel his disappointment. His tone was the same as it had been when they'd gotten caught up in each other on the stairs, when he had told her the truth and she had rejected it; rejected him. "Kiss me again."
Without hesitation, his lips were on hers.
"Okay," she calmed, taking a deep breath. "Tell me."
"Some Ange are able to project their consciousness," he explained. "They call it traveling. When they're young, before they learn how to control it, they're often subconsciously drawn to Star Souls. Most of the time they can see us, sometimes they can't. It's rare to be able to see them, but not unheard of. And it's nothing to be afraid of." He kissed her again. "To them, at least the young ones, it's like a dream. For us — for Star Souls — it's that feeling that someone is with us, that we're not alone or in your case it's like... a ghost."
"Is it like astral projection or something?"
"Kind of," Nick nodded with a smile.
The equivalent of a mayonnaise covered rock settled into the pit of her stomach; weighing her down with a question that she was pretty sure she didn't want to know the answer to but suddenly heard herself asking. "So that was an alien I just saw?"
Nick smiled, nervously. "By definition, no. He's not an alien, because he would have been born on earth. But that doesn't make him a human."
"He didn't look not human, he just looked like a little boy."
"Their differences are very subtle."
"Are you a human?" she heard herself say.
"Yes. Mostly."
"Mostly." The mayonnaise rock turned in her stomach. If she was also a mostly human Star Soul then why hadn't anything like this ever happened before? It all seemed to have started with the bump on her head. Maybe something had been knocked loose, or damaged.
"Are you okay?" Nick asked.
By what definition? "Mostly."
Nick suppressed a smile. "It's not a conspiracy, Jen. They're not here for world domination or anything like that. They're just here."
"Why are they here then? And how come everyone doesn't know about them? And if they're so advanced, why aren't they sharing their technology? Why aren't we all taking vacations to Mars and stuff?"
Nick sighed, disappointed, and took a step back from her. "They're here because Ange have been coming here for centuries. In 1932 a group of Ange descendants found what remained of a ship thought lost to history, and not understanding the technology, they inadvertently activated a distress beacon. A distress beacon for the Ange is not like it is for humans. It's not a simple, 'we're in need of help' kind of thing. It implies distress for all Ange, it's more like, 'help us, we have a warning for you'. The reason they're still here is because the ship that answered the call crash-landed. Because their technology is so advanced they have had to nudge ours along — sharing their technology — and waiting for it to catch up enough to make suitable replacement parts. As for the rest of it, the world isn't ready. It's not news that the Disciples of the Ange believe in beings from other worlds and we're shunned and ridiculed for it. French angel-aliens," he reminded her.
"But how do you know it's true, and not just some story that somebody made up?"
"The real question," he met her eyes and pulled her into his arms. "The question behind the one you're asking, is why should you believe what I just told you?"
"I'm not saying I don't believe you—"
"I know what you're saying," he cut her off, "and I know what you're not saying. And it's okay. I get it. Jen, it doesn't matter what I believe. You need to find the truth for yourself. I believe because of my experiences. You should believe because of yours."
"Experiences? You have experience with space ships?"
"I don't want to fight about this Jen," he kissed her. "I've already told you more than I should have."
That was so not an answer to her question. But she was too distracted by his hands slipping under her shirt and softly caressing her back to protest. She met his lips and all of her thoughts were lost in his kiss.
Chapter 20
Wide Awake and Dreaming
The potential for world domination by French-not-humans aside, the idea of an unexpected child suddenly appearing in her bedroom was a little disconcerting, and had her reconsidering her need for nighttime wear. So on her next day off she decided it might be a good idea to buy a pair of pajamas and a robe. She hadn't actually seen the disappearing little boy since then, but she didn't want to take any chances.
She took Nick's car. It was rather warm that day, and his car had air conditioning. It felt odd to be behind the wheel again after so long, but a part of her had missed it a little bit too. And Nick's zippy little car was nothing like the big clunky van she used to drive. It was actually fun to drive and didn't make any weird noises.
Nick had flown to Vancouver early that morning but it was only a day trip. He'd be back that night.
She picked up a silky red robe in China Town and a couple of silky nightgowns that she wouldn't mind being seen in, particularly if the seeing were done by Nick.
She thought she saw the blue car that had been parked on Francisco Street as she was leaving, but it could've just been a blue car. She was still feeling a little rattled from the strange occurrence the other morning. Maybe it was making her a little paranoid.
Her next stop was to buy a bathing suit. After more than thirty minutes of debating between a pink bikini and a blue one, on the advice of the sales clerk, she decided to purchase both of them.
"Hey," came a familiar voice.
She turned.
It couldn't be.
"Mike?"
"It is you." He scooped her up in a huge great hug. His whole body shook, and he started to cry. "I thought we'd never find you," he said through his tears.
She hugged him back. "Mike, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to go, I didn't want to leave things the way I did." His words caught up to her a second later and she pushed herself free from him. "Wait a second. Who's 'we'? How did you find me, Mike?"
He dried his eyes and stared at her like she was too good to be true. "We should find someplace to talk."
"Yeah," she nodded. She slipped her hand into his and they walked without talking to St. Mary's Square. Mike had never been much for hand holding before, but he was holding so tightly now, she wasn't sure he'd ever let go.
They found a bench in the shade and sat down.
"You look so different. Not just your hair, it's your clothes and your shoes..." he waved toward her healed sandals.
"I am different, Mike." Jen pried her hand from his and placed her bags of sexy new wares on the bench between them. "Start from the beginning. How did you find me?"
"I called the number you called from. Eventually, she told me you were in San Francisco. That's how I knew it couldn't be true. I never believed it Jenny. Never. I always knew you were still alive."
"Still alive? What are you talking about?"
Mike retrieved a newspaper cutout from his wallet and handed it to her. It was an obituary for Jenny Taylor.
"Jenny Taylor's dead," he said. "She died in a car fire near McHardy Park, in Brandon."
"Brandon?" She stared down at Jenny Taylor's senior picture. She looked so young. "What was I supposed to be doing there?"
Brandon was just northeast of Sioux Falls. She'd been ther
e once before to attend a garden party with her— with Jenny's aunt, Janice. She spent the entire event playing solitaire while drinking an overly sweetened raspberry sherbet and lemon soda concoction.
"What's going on here Jenny?" Mike asked.
She met his eyes. Her head felt suddenly light, and the world had begun a less than subtle spin around her. "I don't..." she started. "I can never go back," she realized.
Why was Jenny Taylor dead?
Was it because the Taylor's nineteen-year babysitting job was officially over, or was there another reason? A reason somehow tied to her real identity? 'Be safe,' Xavier's words came to her mind, 'Don't wait for me.' The idea that someone had tried to kill her as an infant was pure insanity, but that they still had a reason to kill her was simply absurd. What on earth could possibly make her marked for death? It couldn't have been anything she had done. Maybe it was some kind of twisted criminal family vendetta thing.
"Does anyone else know?"
"That you're dead?"
"That I'm alive?"
"Davin knows, though he thought I was all talk until he saw that picture of you."
"What picture?" Jen demanded.
"It was on some news rag about that singer, O'Shara." He explained. "You were in the background, getting into a taxi. It was kind of fuzzy, but it was enough to convince Davin that I wasn't completely out to lunch."
"Who else knows?"
"I told Ray, but after the fire, he's not so convinced. And I'm pretty sure Quincy knows but he's not saying anything, he told me just to drop it. I think that's why Davin left."
"What do you mean, Davin left?"
"Right after graduation."
"Where is he now?"
"He lives out here too now, working for that singer, O'Shara, as a roadie or something. He's not going to believe it when he finds out it's really you."
"No, Mike. You can't tell him. You can't tell anyone."
"But Jenny—,"
"How did you find me Mike?" she asked again.
"By miracle," he said. "I work security for Park Place Retirement. I couldn't believe it when I first saw you."
"The blue car," she accused.
He grimaced. "I guess I still need to work on my surveillance techniques."
"Not bright blue might have helped."
"Tell me what's going on here, Jenny. I can help."
"I don't really know what's going on." Jen shook her head. "I'm not sure I want to know. Quincy was right, you should just drop it."
Mike shook his head, perturbed. "And who's this guy you're living with?"
"He's someone I trust."
"You're not even going to tell me his name? How long could you have even known this guy? I've known you for fifteen years! You can't trust me?"
"It's not the same, Mike."
"Look, I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry I'm not the person you thought I was. But that doesn't mean I don't care about you or that I don't love you. Whatever's going on here, I can help you. I can protect you."
"I don't need you to protect me, Mike, I need you to forget about me."
"You know I can't do that."
"Don't you get it? It's not safe. You have to go. You have to forget about me, you have to stay away from me. No one knows me here Mike, no one knows my past, or who I was. I'm not Jenny Taylor here, I'm... someone else."
"You're hiding," Mike realized. "But from what?"
A car backfired just then, sounding an awful lot like gunfire. A darkened alleyway flashed to the forefront of her thoughts. Followed by a distinct sense of panic. "I have to go," she reached for her bags.
"Jenny, wait!" Mike grabbed her by the arms.
Her panic caused her heart to leap, but the very next beat brought with it an odd yet somehow familiar sense of calm. The world changed in that moment, as if it had slowed and become very small. She could feel the expansion of her awareness, like ripples in a pond.
Mike. He had blamed himself for so long, hated himself for how he had used her. He cared for her. He loved her. He didn't want to lose her again.
The ripple grew.
There was a small handful of people in Saint Mary's Square at the moment. Some of them had taken notice of her and Mike's interaction, but only a few were watching now. Among them was a man not 20 feet from them who had been watching their interaction since they sat down. Her awareness encompassed him as it had Mike.
Warren Forrester. He was older now, out of shape, but he'd been a soldier not that long ago, and his instincts and training were still very much intact. She could see how simple it would be for him to intervene, if given reason, and exactly what those reasons might look like. He could also see how she could defend herself.
She took his thoughts, twisted her arm free from Mike's grasp, and took a step back from him. She met his eyes and motioned her 'no' with the slightest shake of her head.
Odd, how this wasn't a dream, and yet, it had the distinct impression of being one.
She was Genevieve.
Her awareness grew. Waves of thought came crashing in on her, overwhelming her, wave after wave, crashing against her, enveloping her. Thousands of individual thoughts were zipping about in her head. Some of them felt as if they were charged with bits of electricity. Stress, drive and ambition, were a common thread.
It's warm out; there was a general consensus.
"Hey," Mike caught her attention.
Suddenly the situation was very clear to her. "This isn't me," she shook the obituary at him. "This girl died months ago. We are different people, no matter how much we look alike. She's dead, and I'm not. Do you understand?"
Mike looked confused, but he nodded.
And then—
She could feel him — the Hunter and he could feel her, sense her, he knew exactly where she was. The information excited him. Made him hungry for the hunt.
She was no longer alone in the crowd.
Not alone. Not safe.
It was time to go.
Her muscles tensed as the ripples of awareness rescinded upon her. Her breath caught in her throat, she gasped for air, and the world was as it had been once more — vast, empty and alone.
Genevieve was once again, safe inside the recesses of her façade, Jennifer Hollis.
Mike was saying something to her, but she wasn't listening. All she knew now was that she needed to leave. Quickly. She wished she hadn't worn heels. She started off in the direction of where she'd parked Nick's car.
"I just miss her." Mike's words drifted into her consciousness. He was walking with her.
"Me too," Jen answered, with barely a thought.
"Let me give you my number," Mike said. He pulled out an investigators notebook, made a few quick scribbles, tore off the page and handed it to her. "Just in case you ever want to talk or get a coffee or something."
"Yeah, thanks," she took the paper from him and shoved it into her pocket not slowing her pace.
"I'll see you later then?" Mike pressed.
She stopped walking, and turned to face him. "We'll see," she said. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodbye, Mike." She turned and walked briskly away.
This time, he didn't follow.
She felt better as the distance grew between her and Saint Mary's. She wasn't sure where she was going exactly, she had just been trying to get away. After driving around aimlessly for a while, she found herself on The Embarcadero. She followed it north around to Jefferson which took her to Hyde Pier and then to Sammie's.
Sammie's was particularly crowded today.
"Hi." Donna gave her a wave as she entered. "Business or pleasure?"
"Pleasure," Jen responded. "I'm hungry."
"It's kind of crowded, but if you can't find a seat the VIP booth is open."
She knew they were there, she could feel them. It wasn't that odd sense of familiarity or kindred soul she had when they were near, it was different. More than just recognition upon seeing them, she knew where they were. Maybe it was a residual e
ffect from the earlier occurrence at St. Mary's Square.
"I was thinking I'd sit at 13" Jen said.
Donna grimaced. "It's your funeral."
"...freeloading whore," she heard Marcus say as she rounded the corner.
"Isn't that a bit of a contradiction?" Paul offered.
She had presumed Marcus's comment had been about her, but Paul helped confirm her suspicions with the flash of panic that came across his face when he saw her.
"Hiya, boys," she said as she slid into the booth, next to Paul.
"Speak of the devil," Marcus said.
"I told you not to tell anyone," she elbowed Paul. Not hard, but it was enough to make him scoot over. He was now in Nick's usual spot. She scooted in, now directly across from Marcus.
"I don't recall anyone inviting you to join us," Marcus sneered.
"Yeah. I don't recall that either," she turned to Paul. "What about you Paul? What's your recollection?" Paul just stared at her, seemingly at a loss for words then shook his head from side to side. "No? Nothing?" she prodded. "Well, I guess that settles it," she said to Marcus. "None of us recall it, so it must not have happened." She concealed her mouth from Marcus's view and whispered to Paul, "It's just like that one time, when Marcus wasn't a total douche."
Paul let loose a laugh.
Marcus scowled at them.
"Can I take your order?" asked Kevin, wearing a name-tag that read: SHEMP
"I have my doubts," Marcus said being typically snide.
"Careful Marcus," Jen smiled. "No one's paying me to be nice to you today."
"Turkey B A on white. Diet." Marcus sneered.
"Turkey, bacon, avocado." Jen said, before Kevin had too much time to panic. "That sounds yummy. Oh, and he doesn't mean diet," she clarified. "He means Diet Coke."
"Gotcha," Kevin nodded, pretending to make a quick change on the order pad, even though they both knew that diet was in reference to the drink.
"It's cute when he tries to talk the lingo though isn't it?" she added.
"Adorable," Kevin said.
"I'll have the same on wheat, no mayo, and an iced tea" Jen smiled.
"Make that two." Paul said.
"But you want mayo on yours, right?" she clarified.
The Aeon Star Page 17
